Forsaken
by FamRoyalty
Summary: Through an unforeseeable chain of events, Humanity as a whole faces an unimaginable foe for the first time since their time as simple creatures without culture. Now, Corporal Michael Elli Phillips has just woken up on a distant world ruled by nightmare, with few allies and dwindling resources, it will take everything he has to survive and adapt to the world at large.
1. Lost in a strange land is no fun, honest

A/N: Hello there, I'm not too sure how I'll tackle this story, but it's a pastime to write and think about. This story is mainly inspired by _War of the Worlds _by _**UN Peacekeeper. **_I love their stories and how they mold the world around the stories. Also inspired is _The __Will to Live _by _**Obsidian Productions.**_

**Description: **Through an unforeseeable chain of events, Humanity faces the risk of extinction for the first time since their time as simple creatures without culture. Now, Corporal Michael Ellis has just woken up on a distant world ruled by nightmares. With few allies and dwindling resources, it will take everything he has to survive and adapt to the world at large.

_Tags: Gore, memory problems, mature, blood, survival, military, the real world._

* * *

**FORSAKING PT.1**

_do you hear the bells?_

There's water.

Mud and the water were slipping into his gaping mouth. But his head is stuck in the black earth mud; wet and cold. His throat is seizing and his lungs are heavy, _where is he?_ _What's happening?_ He can see the sky cold and numb, where the slice stretched all around him. Too silent.

His bones and tenons throb, aching and pulsing through the thick muscles and skin. _Is that normal?_ He can smell something else too; a hissing sense that struck on top of his mouth. The smell of smoke and the rotting death of burning flesh.

His face is damp and his face feels somewhat warm. But everything just aches. His muscles creaked and croaked with the slightest touch. That's where the cold started to sweep in. Like cold fingers, it dug into his bones, wary and demanding. He now knew that he was trembling.

Odd.

But his mind was far from over because this wasn't normal, right? He shouldn't. . . he should be somewhere. But where? His name is. . . the knowledge didn't correct itself and the veil of false security left, leaving him gasping with a cold realization.

_Who was he?_

On instinct he dragged his body from the edge, the motion bringing sickness as he looked down on himself. He was in some dark clothes, covered with the soil around him. He tried to stand but the foulness and the blood _(blood, where did he get blood?_) He could only bring a desperate breathe before his side was left in the mud again. He groans from the light hitting his eyes, bribing his heavy arms to attempt to block the light.

He didn't know what to expect but looking through the cold, he recovered and with that made an account of what the hell was happening.

One: He had little, to absolutely no idea where he, who he is, what happened- No, that's a lie, he can remember vaguely shouting of names and codes through static and the burning sensation of flames as they were thrown out of somewhere. He was panicking, somewhere in his subconscious, he knew logically that panic would not solve anything.

But on the much brighter part of number two is that he is alive, teeth grinding pain and bleeding but mercifully _alive_.

That in itself should count on a blessing.

On the third, and most glaringly obvious were his injuries. From the bloody boots with caked mud (_that on that he concluded that he walked here?)_ chipped fingernails on one hand, and one gloved hand, with dirt and grime underneath. And the deep and dark bruising from his hands to the throbbing of his cheeks. His shaking fingers brushing against a swollen bump in his skull flinching when it touched.

Oh- he looks at his back and sees the giant black bag on his back. That explains why the was tilting side to side, trying to find the center of gravity. A gun sat next to him, the metal twisted and contoured in an unnatural way.

Four, he had a literal fucking _knife_ in his thigh. Which of course would explain his searing pain, and the blood mixing through the water. Like fine silk or grey smoke on a cold day- wait he's being distracted.

Probably due to the high loss of blood. Yeah, he would blame it on the blood.

On the positive note, that was the fifth and final note, he was covered in thick, black armor. With so many pouches and hooks, he wonders what the hell he's supposed to do with them.

But there was something wrong with his arms, or neck. Both really. His fingers were reluctantly moving and stretching if he couldn't really control them. The gun sat useless, and cold at the touch. Okay, he's been here for some time then.

Stretching his luck, his eyes wandered to the foul stench, where the bulking figure was at the edge of the water if daring to touch it. _Had he been attacked?_ But the bruising burning neck and the sticky hair on his head would tell another tale.

So the despair point was this; he didn't know his name, where he is, or any fundamental information, he was alone with nothing but a knife that is still lodged in his thigh. He was going to die from blood loss, or from hypothermia. Whichever one gets him first.

But it is getting dark, and like hell, he'll just roll over and die. Enforced with the confidence needed he to sit up- _the burning agony and the distribution of his lungs, he's wheezing, and oh he's going to throw up-_ it's too late.

The foul stench burned through his nose, and mouth, and oh gods it hurts to even move or think or- but the rhymic throbbing of pain in his thigh tie and ground him. He'll pass out any minute now, but the cold that hangs in his body, crawling through is a constant reminder that it's getting dark and something deep is screaming at him to move. He knew that and needed to do that.

But by God, everything just _hurts_.

His lower intestines are looping like in an abstract painting, rubber tubing circling each other and it's suffocating to no end or beginning. And his bones are cracking in their housings of muscle roped too tight into his skeleton.

So first, before he tries anything, he needs some direction on what to do and where to go. Right now that means getting a knife out of your own flesh. Sounded better than actually doing it. Which is okay. So not blinking, or stopping for any reasoning, he launched and ripped the knife out, but stopping half-way there, by the screams that burned his throat. The white seeing pain, is too _much, far too much, he is already half-dead why is the world doing this?-_

He doesn't even realize of his own shivering and crying. He hisses one last time before pulling out completely, and by_ Mary, Jesus, and Joseph_, he really wants to die now. His back is back at the starting point, his own back subconsciously curl upwards if that would help the wound stop hurting to damn much. Soon his wheezing and the hissing subdue, and he's left gasping and panting.

Okay, part one is complete. Next, not dying from blood loss. Good thing there was water next to him, and he had some resemblance of luck. He shifted again, hissing and groaning as he sat up. Looking at himself, the gaping wound and the blood rushing out of it was a trance that memorialized him. Pulling himself, painfully slow mind you, he carefully wrapped the wound.

Oh it wasn't perfect, and it will most likely open up again, but it'll hold for now. The charter land, a wide channel, and on each side were the rocky and bold trees that stretched out into the heavens. Maybe from his perspective. But his own gaze, curious, wonder to the bulking figure that was the falling slope that hinted out where it fell from. Too late that he also realizes that the corner of his vision is frizzling and blurred, shaking and unfocused like a cheap bought camera.

With all the pain and beating his own body took, he amounted to something as he crawled slowly on all fours to the dead animal. _(Animal? It's too small of an animal, what is that?)_ The static on his right ear grew heavier as he focuses on it. It was like having your own static station right in there.

The animal was not what he was expecting. Because it's not an animal. It's a man.

A man curled into his side, it's head, with blood flowing still, took a hit by the looks of it. And on its middle is a gaping wound with the deep brown and reds of intestines and organs in plain view. The realization hit him hard, almost causing him to fall back into the mud, this was a man. His friend maybe? Its brown hair was flowing and cluster by the mud.

It's body armor, black and ripped in areas, there's a white bold letter: _A. Cribbs._

Instinctively, he jerks his head to the left of his breast shoulder, finds the name, _M. Phillips. _He grabbed his head, throbbing, and high pitch noise as he recalled someone with blonde hair, standing shoulder to shoulder with men and women as they stand with straight postures in front of crowds and flashing cameras.

His name is Corporal Michael Elli Phillips, member of an elite group of scouts to report and set information hubs to gather information on this new, dangerous world.

His is hyperventilating because he _knows_ this man. Remember how the man would sneak his jolly ranchers in his pounces, and absolutely loathes potatoes, of any kind, and would stubbornly dig his own heels in no matter the teasing he received from his team. Knows the man in front of him with his lower jaw missing, teeth crocked and torn, and the meat of his tongue hanging in the air.

His knees were already bloody and weak. But the wanting of knowing, outweighs the burning of his muscles and back. Unclipping the bag, his arms quiver, and he hisses as he carries the bag to his side. His own sheer power is leaving him more drain and confused but he pushes the corpse of his comrade.

There, half-buried was the dog tags. Caked with blood, and fluids, caged and guarded by the upper jaw and tongue. He somehow locks eyes with the dead man, the dilated pupils somehow are sharper than he imagined, the pigment of his eyes drained and left behind the milky mess of the eyes of a dead man.

He looks into his palm as he takes the dog tags, engraved were:

_Cribbs, Aaron_

_1266-7904-1124_

_ A Pos. _

_No preference__._

They words loop around one another, with letters and codes he sees, but hurts to comprehend. He shoved it into one of his pockets. He turns, his jelly legs carrying for a few meters before collapsing once more. He shoved his heavy bag to the side, thankful to not have the extra weight in his shoulder, before ransacking the bag. Things necessary for survival scattered and few in between, enough for a few days at most. But not enough for the long run.

But sufficient enough to somewhat guarantee he won't fall to hyperthermia. As the sun was falling, he hooked them to his sides, arms locked until they wouldn't fall.

_Unless_.

He looks at Aaron, he just notices his broken legs with his fibula breaking the skin and heavy cloth armor. He clears his throat, and carefully turns the body on its front. He's missing his gear equipment, and most of his things, but his one handgun is safety put in its hoster. He sends a thank you and prays for forgiveness as he takes it.

As he stood, shakily and almost falling, he looked down on Aaron, with his torn and his corpse, and a surge of regret and sadness hit him, he was. . . hesitant to leave him behind (a_ mantra no man left behind is whispering in his ear ) _but now he does not have the luxury to choose.

Dark was falling and the sounds of the forest were becoming alive. Something was lurking in the shadows, deep and dangerous.

So he stood and limped, and for now, that was all he could do.


	2. Oh, hey! You're stuck here too?

**Description**: Struggling with a concussion in an unknown land with no backup or allies certainly doesn't raise his spirit. Lucky for him, a friendly face is always a welcome from a repetitively nightmare.

_**Tags**: Gore, blood,_

sur·viv·al _noun_

the state or fact of continuing to live or exist, typically in spite of an accident, ordeal, or difficult circumstances.

* * *

**_Friendly Fire_**

_i wonder if you remember me_

In 2030, Humanity had come in to face a danger unlike the poverty of disease or the massacres of the war.

This danger came from the ocean.

This was not some conspiracy of shadow governments or rogue agents. When giants of fables came from the deep of the oceans, there was no announcement from religious ceazed groups. Or any radical groups looking to snatch the world's spotlight.

On, 06:30 UTC on Saturday, September 7, Humanity comprehended the physical weakness brought from their evolution. Large populations rooted along the sea were among the first to see giant monsters raise from the ocean, their humongous bodies baffled logic as they floated and swam to the unsuspecting public.

Local police were the first line of defense, small handguns that did no actual damage to the giants, some bouncing off, others simply regrowing the small holes punctured in their skin. Those island countries were in far greater risk, isolated by oceans, and giants from every direction.

Japanese police with nightsticks and .38-caliber revolvers were among the fallen, some of the heroes bodies never even recovered as they were _eaten_. These humanoid animals, standing as tall as a three-story building indiscriminately snatched and devoured every child, woman, and man they could see. Some hid and seeked refuge in the subways, deep underground, others hid under their office desks and prayed to whatever entity that heard.

Puerto Rico was one of the first to report the incoming threat. Five minutes after prior contact, the American government was made aware of humanoid giants killing and eating American citizens. Their Navy of 500,000 strong deployed a small fraction from the Louisiana base.

Soon, reports came from every land of the giants among the people. The Royal Navy went into high alert, calling back all of its ships to protect the Isles.

A young Michael joined the Marines at a tender age of 19, looking for a shot and the fire of ambition fueling his rockets. In 2029, a year just before the attack, Michael was one of many to become a Blue Helmet, much to the amusement of his platoon. One year to be a UN Peacekeeper, and through that year, he was deployed in Uganda as a yet another civil war threatens the country when news broke out.

A year later, his commanding officer recommended him for the mission, and at the same time, he was given the rank of Corporal.

He was one of the few to come back alive.

* * *

Michael is the first to confess that things were _not_ going as he hoped. His first steps into the forest were sheer suffering, and motivations as his only companion, as he pushed through, with a bag too heavy for his worn-out muscles, hauling behind him.

As turned out even the terrain itself seemed to have it out for him. The crisscrossing between trees far too thick, the boulders of rocks, left from falling slopes, and the twigs and small little rocks that throbbed and irritated the already spend feet.

He can feel the sweat and water gushing around his toes, with blood oozing from his open sores and irritated skin. It's not a fun feeling.

The trees were so _massive_, its leaves fell with shadows and the trunks taking several steps to even cover. It's like a childhood memory he had, back when normal was a concept, and he and his mother took a trip to California.

The shadows of the trees overlapped, the way of the moonlight was making the forest take the role of a surreal dream a child would have. Through the strenuous trip, he took enough Analgesic to knock a sober man out. Or at least he thinks, the self-diagnosed concussion is making things very messy to think over.

He would be forced to drag his body to climb over the unstable slopes and cry out when he stumbles and falls. He wanted nothing more than flop down and sleep until he was aged and dead.

Which he did, but instead of leaving his whole rank out for the creatures of the night to attack, he found a small opening underneath a fallen tree. The mighty tree still seemed alive somehow, smaller plants and mushrooms growing from its corpse, it's moderately poetic he thinks. But he also thinks that this nasty concussion needs to disappear.

The opening itself was too small for him, he had to dig a bit before he squeezed himself in, surprisingly well too. And he stuffed his bag in the entrance, leaving only a crack for the moonlight to sink into his exposed skin.

A cracked radio gleaned in the moonlight.

He recovered it from his pouched, who knew really, only frizzled static greeted him. He remembers more now, here's what you remember:

How to disarm an opponent that overpowers you, how to decapitate a plastic mummy and re-wire a car. How a California sunset looks like, sunrays are molted from light and fade in the distance. Where to put a knife —just to the left of the spine, fourth lumbar down; the abdominal aorta — if you want to kill a man. What vanilla ice-cream tastes like. What the mission is.

Homesickness hit him in the balls. Home. He hasn't thought of that little concept in a while. He remembers a lot now. Home, what is home to a man like him? He remembers, a woman with her gave missing because he cannot recall, but her hands are cupped around his smaller ones as she fills them up with jelly beans of all colors. They overflow and drop into the ground and she laughs a sweet melody.

He simply drops the cracked radio into the pouch, no matter what his mind demanded, his body ached far too much to even think, or feel. So he slept under the moonlight, blood still oozing from his foot, and let the calmness of the forest be the lullaby for his weary soul.

It wasn't even morning when he snapped into awareness. The forest was calm, a blanket that shushed the mood into the surreal when a fire when out. It was still grey out there, but his neck and arms hurt, stiff from being stuffed into an unnatural position. Albeit better than he woke up from the shallow river.

_Snap!_

He is in a rigid posture, he wants to turn wildly to look for whatever caused such a loud sound.

_Expect_. . . Expect, he can't. His muscles are locked, his breathing is labored, if he spends his day under the sun working with heavy machinery. The forest didn't seem to cover him anymore, leaving him for anyone to see, naked and vulnerable. He wants to shrink back, to see turn around and close his eyes. But then-

_Crack!_

He finally turned to his side, cursing himself for getting into such a small space, when he turned to his peripherical vision.

_There was a fucking eye looking at him._

He almost cried out in terror but choked on his salvia in confusion to keep quiet or scream. It's an eye ( _a gigantic fucking eye! _) took all the space of the entrance. It's shadow taking all of the visible surfaces. Jesus Christ, you can see yourself. It's reflecting a reflection of his bloody and bruised face, washed with pale terror.

If there was a big eye, just how big was the thing that had the eye?

The blood rushing to his feet as he first felt when he looked down from overlooking a balcony in a high building. The detachment of his limps, the light in his fingers, pure terror. It's like being back to being six years old and petrified of heights.

His thigh was burning and bleeding, and the sweat was pricking and sticking to his hair and back. There was no practical protocol, well faced with the enemy—

The thunderous headache didn't ease as the unblinking eye kept on its stare, not once breaking contact. And like any good soldier with a concussion behind enemy lines, away from allies and the comfort of home, he did the most logical option that popped into his mind.

He swung at it.

( In hindsight, days after his concussion had cleared, he wondered when he became such a _dumbass_. ) More of punch, like a homemade movie, he could see the slow motion of his fist colliding with the eyeball, how it shrunk away, and tore through the eye's sclera, it felt like punch a tub of jelly.

There was a mix of a roar and a grunt, deep and ominous, it shook and traveled through the ground, shaking his teeth. But the eye disappeared from his view, and for a second he could breathe.

He released a shaky sigh, his fingers, and legs whole shaking from the unexpected run with danger, but the fatigue of all that pressure on his mind, nearly caused him to go into overdrive. He knew he couldn't stay here, the giant is probably on top of the enormous tree trunk, ready to pounce when he comes out.

Michael, he thinks during this time, of home and of simple times that had passed. He could do nothing to nurse the swollen bump on his side of his head. Maybe if he wasn't so reckless, then maybe he could be blissfully unaware with his comrades on the other side of the world.

The crickets, and birds high above signing their own songs, it brought something out his chest.

When did he last hear a bird sing?

It reminds him of the time he went on field trips to the zoo, and his childhood friend would not stop complaining about the bird's exceeding amount of noise. How does he even remember that? He could have sworn he had forgotten all of that.

Did he ever? But his mind is still edged, the numbing questions of what the hell just happened. Griping the straps of the bag— the only thing keeping him alive from a beast of a giant really— until his knuckles turned white, he pushed forward, away from the dark and tall trees.

He was going to die.

He knows that.

But maybe he can take that bastard to hell with him before Death knocks at his door.

Here, it seemed the sun danced around the green leaves of above, he licks his dry lips. His stomach is aching and well so is his whole body, but could he really risk sitting down and leave himself unguarded?

He unclipped his handgun, and send a prayer for forgiveness to his mother.

He stilled.

Terror, the unimaginable apprehension of a nightmare, one that grips at your soul, locks your muscles and lets adrenaline lose but you can't find yourself to move.

It was just like a man. But. Its humanoid, but _wrong_. Features exaggerated, bloated bodies ungainly and unbalanced. Almost insulting, a mockery of humanity, and for some reason, those eyes, those fucking _eyes_.

A flash of a tv and images of massacres and death ring through his head.

Are these the monsters under the bed? The one where little kids always snatch their dangling legs under the safety of the covers in fear the monster could snatch you away? Michael closes his eyes and raised his gun.

Instincts kicked in and he unloaded his gun into the eye that had been spying on him.

It echoed off in an impressive display of acoustics that made it feel like they were surrounding him. He sees the monster rear back, it's back arched as it lets out a howl of pain, steam coming from its eyes.

He bolts. His thigh is radiating heat like no other if someone had injected fire into his heart and spread all over his body. He took off in the nearest direction that was clear, his path already decided as he sees just how big the trees are making things more difficult.

The thunderous footsteps, it breaks his concretrations, cracks and shakes the foundation of the earth, so he glances quickly, and sees—

Sees another giant, running towards him, its arms stretched out. Its shadow already covering his body, and Michael just realizes that the thing is _smiling_. There is no illusion of emotions, the smile looks if its part of its biology, all ears and a nose. Not human.

The turbulent airflow choked and turned, like an untamed wave, causing the palate of his throat to be coated with blood and saliva.

Gradually, and slowly he sees himself get snatched from the ground, squeezing like a lemon, stealing his breaths, his legs kicking if he was running in the air, his fist punching and rasing against the larger hand as it held him as if he was some toy and brings him higher and higher and higher—

He can feel the heat and rotting death from its mouth, the in and out of air as it brings him closer to its jaw—

Underneath a young tree, its leaves green with young spring life, a young but tired a Marine Private First Class heard the echos of shots, too close and too loud, perfect to attract the wrong kind of attention. But also, guilty he is pleased to even hear something remotely like home. So, armed with guns, he blazed through the forest of giant trees.

Through the frenzy chaotic disasters going on around him, he manages to let go of the rope holding him up in the air, and away from the wondering hands from below. Inhuman hands, belonging to distortion naked bodies. And this is what he sees:

_His comrade was going to get eaten._

He saw the hopeless man, get trapped undet those talons, squeezing the life out of his lungs, and he was a already a murderer, but this man was a good man.

"lil' Kim" was going to die trying to save the man, even if he knew it was hopeless and suicidal.

He brought his rifle from his arms, held it high and staring shooting at it's arms and eyes. The monster shrieked as smoke and steam rose from its bleeding eyes, still holding the Corporal. Who was alrrady turning blue, his lips white, and his trembling starting to stop.

The monster, like a spoiled child, started to trash around, their fist on the man getting sloppy. Gravity took hold, and dropped the poor man, falling quickly and merciless onto the ground below.

More thunderous footsteps, coming from the other titan by the treetrunk, smaller than the other one, faster.

Lethal.

"CORPORAL! _RUN!"_

Michael gasped, his tender and abused lungs, expanded and contracted, as a earthquake shook the earth under him. A shout, one of a high note, to run.

He stumbled through the fallen branches and dead leaves as he jumped away from a hand above him. ( _God_, _he could see himself at his own funeral, a flag covering his casket and a group of finely lined men and women saluting him a welcome back._ )

Something with that image turned his stomach, but a little voice inside his head kept whispering to run, that it wasn't safe where he was. A deep instinct in his veins screams to _move_. He spend less than a day here, and already he's picturing his death. Fuck that cliche shit. Not when his homeland his so far away, that recovering bodies is a suicide on its own.

He runs, not helping the agony on the thigh, spreading throughout his legs. A numbing sensation seized up his arms and lungs, making seeing a clear challenge.

A figure is standing out by the trees, holding a hook and a rope, and on his other hand a rifle capable of shooting and ripping off flesh from its bones with such a frightening ease, it was kept away from most rookies.

The deafing sound of shots and the sharp smell of gunpowder hits homebase, it almost sticks to the palate of his throat. Almost immediately, steams covers the sky, a deep inhuman cry, and he begins to wonder when reality became such a nightmare.

A hand crashed against his broken down helmet, smaking his skull into the hard Kevlar. Shocking him out of the trance his body was under. A strong grip on his shoulder, yanking him to his feet.

His lungs, Jesus when will he get a break? His lungs are burning, his eyes too are red and puffy from the raw air as he runs on his blessing thigh.

He's soaring.

Higher and Higher, as he sees another hand reaching for him—

* * *

A chocked gasp, his throat twisting from the sudden rush of air.

"Finally awake, eh?" A young voice muffed through the thick fabric covering his face, warily asks.

A figure standing, close _too close_, when did that happen? A sharp intake, his muscles tense, ready to pounce and move—

"Chill! It's me, Kim!"

It's true, when those hands move slowly and open, the black figure suddenly becomes clearer and its a sight of relief. A face he knew— _a smiling face, leaning back from the air as it ruffled his hair. A straight back standing shoulder to shoulder as cameras flashed bright._

"Kim? Jesus, _is that you?_" His voice, scratchy and strained, uplifted in disbelieving relief.

A airless laugh escaped kim Joo-woon, a Marine Private First Class send along the first of three teams to a alien world. His mission is simple: Gather information in the stead of Chief Scientists and Biologist, Cameron Diaz.

His team— Team Alpha 2, was mainly composed of biologists, botanist, Ecophysiologist. Hell, they even brought on a freaking Entomologist! It was merely to collect sample to study and compare to Earth's own enivorment.

Somehow, one of the 189 countries that participated on this mission, someone had sabotaged the bird. Crashing against the humongous trees that they made their meeting point.

He believed only he and Cameron Diaz were the only two survivors— He saw the Corporal freaking _fall off a chopper _with a knife in his thigh.

Then the monsters came.

Tall, ugly and distorted features, a mockery of humans picked up a dying Cameron and devored the man. His choking screams and shouts of vengeance were the only motivation to keep moving foward.

Until he stumbled along an injured Corporal.

Kim offered a food ration, it foiled wrapper bringing some nostalgia as it was extended to him. Michael wordlessly thanked him, bringing the bar to his mouth.

It was good, it left his lips salty and his throat dry. But it filled his stomach. The water container, as small as it was, miraculously had some water left. His beating heart and chasing pulse calmed. He finally let his muscles relax, and he could fall asleep right there, right now.

"Report. Tell me what the _hell_ happened."

Kim sat back in the branch (just how big were these trees?) and let his limbs stretch.

"Well, here's the recap; Aaron, the little traitor, decided that we had to crash. You and Aaron fell somewhere down there—" Kim points to the ground below, small monsters already scratching at its trunk— "And I thought only me and Cameron made it."

Kim takes a pause, bringing his own canteen of water to his lips.

"And, well, he didn't make it that far."

Michael thought of the rotting corpse he left behind. Milky white eyes staring at him with its jaw missing and tongue hanging. He grimaced.

Now that he thought about it, he remembers Cameron. Aging man with dark hair with white streaks already running through his beard. A good, honest man.

"Yeah, I thought that I could hold out until Beta or even Omega team got here. Until I found you, of course."

Michael takes another look under him, a terror spreads through his hands as he looks at the creatures at the base of the tree, some already giving up but still staring at him, unblinking.

"How the hell did I get up here?"

Kim huffs, if already anticipation the questions. "Well, remember the reports brought back from Alpha 1? I took extra more precautions because of it."

Michael leans back, the previous team only brought back the first sights to what to expect. He remembers seeing something about creatures that took majority of the land. He's starting to remember a hell lot more.

They had a formal coded name given, most though prefer to call these monsters "gaints."

If it was true that these "creatures" took most of the top food chain then why weren't they more prepared? More ropes and hooks, bases established in mountains or even oceans?

Team Omega is responsible for that department, even so.

Maybe the higher-ups knew of Aaron inevitable betrayal, and still decided to go with it?

Ugh, his head is hurting too much for this. Far too much time and it was too silent for him to concentrate.

"Take a breather man. I'll take the first watch."

As the man stops, nods thankfully again. And let's his body fall limp, feeling the pain from exhaustion spreading slowly throughout.

Before he closes his eyes and succumbs to his exhaustion, he in instinct, immediately reaches for the. . . The what? It was on his neck, the. . . Something he can't remember.

As hard he tries to remember something important, the sense of something missing, it dissolves. But the sense of wrongness stays. But the momentary pause, however, had not helped the agony on the thigh, spreading throughout his legs. A numbing sensation seized up his arms and lungs, making seeing clearly a challenge.

He barges through that, not needing to contrasted on the pain now taking it effect on the soldier. He breathes, once or twice, and he can't remember his one name.

He dreams of roses and honey.

He drifts between conscious and unconsciousness, where he isn't really aware of everything. He can feel pulling, and someone talking, from before, but now it was silent. Like a soft melodic song that fills your soul with warmth ended but the warmth stayed. But after an uncountable time, the strings of exhaustion won the better logic, and slowly he came to his dreams.


	3. PLease don't die from diarrhea

**Description: **A glimpse into the "before" and "after" of the world before the disaster struck. Also, did you know that diarrhea sucks?

**A / N: **Also, a quick side note here, don't be shy and leave a comment or something. It great hearing feedback from you guys.

_Tags: _Gore, liquefied shit, I mean that blood, boring meetings, death.

Odyssey-a _noun_

a long, exciting journey

* * *

**_Remember, these deeds._**

_old songs, old comrades_

_Per the Espionage Act of 1917, 18 US code 2381, and the UN Law 569-02B. chap 3, any unauthorized eyes reading or leaks of information, spoken, written or passed, regarding the following archive is punishable by a prison sentence or death._

_[RETRACTED] to U.S. Defense Secretary Troy Glen_

**URGENT** \- **PRIORITY ALPHA** \- **URGENT**

**CLASSIFICATION**: TOP SECRET EYES ONLY

Encryption code 8392-4933-28944.

Location: U.S. Military Naval Base, [RETRACTED]

**WARNING**\- UNAUTHORIZED DISCLOSURE OF FILE CONTENTS PUNISHABLE BY DEATH AS PER UN CODE 569-02B -**WARNING**

_[RETRACTED]_

14 C.F.R. 1211

Good morning, Secretary.

The following images are those brought forward thanks to the sacrifices of Alpha Team 1. They prepare us to — _STATIC..._

[**RETRACTED**]

_LOADING... LOADING..._

CONTINUE? Y/N

_Y_

—do not forget the countless men and women who have given their very lives to humanity's cause. They have struck us first. What kind of Americans would we be if we don't strike back?

[**_RETRACTED_**]

_TRANSMISSION END_

* * *

Michael didn't even consider picking up smoking until this point in his life.

Stress is always. No matter where or when it always comes in degrees. His old commander, that man was a walking stress ball, constant work and little to no interaction with the real world as others called it. His intelligence department ran on Rebull they shit only that.

Information regarding the monsters that came from the ocean were public, seeing as much of it wasn't even useful and even a little of it. Videos shot by civilians were a forest wildfire, copies popping up after it took one down.

Now though, with all this shit done with, he wonders just what to do with all this stress.

Problems that arise in different situations require different responses. Now, clutching his comrade's shoulder and hoisting him up, as he doubles over and takes the _fucking biggest shit _he has ever seen, he suppresses the urge to curse his bloodline for putting him in this world.

Oh, fuck Jesus, the _smell_.

When did this happen? A day ago he was wandering lost in a giant fucking forest, and now he was helping his guy not fall off and get killed for taking a shit.

Another wonderful problem was that the bandage was now flapping loose, and he could barely put any weight on his leg now. If the slightest touch, the whole leg would seize up and threaten to crumble. His throat, already dry and contrasted, seized up and the sudden urge to throw up started to boil in his stomach.

Kim is still miserable, but somehow, in a few hours went from the ball of sunshine that he is to groan in pain and desperation. When Cameron died, the portable water purificator he carried got lost in the mess's frenzy.

So, Kim in his infinite wisdom decided that he had to drink from unidentified water sourced from an alien land teeming with unknown bacteria and germs that are positionally deadly for them coming from an unknown world.

Lucky for Michael, for rather unlucky for those looking at a different view, he just bought a small bottle of hand sanitizer with his pocket money and has left him faster than a racehorse.

His water, a cool refresher, washed the taste of sick from his mouth, cooled the fire of the wound on his neck, and cleared some dull fogginess from his brain. He sighed in happy content, the cloud around his eyes cleared a little and looking down into his thigh, a brash idea popped into existence.

In a moment of inspiration, he tugged free the loose outer layer of the bandage around his thigh. It was filthy and stained, and the wound seemed to have stopped bleeding for now.

Kim moaned in misery a few feet from him.

Michael rolled his eyes again, scratching his chin as he worked his way towards him. Kim inhaled so many pills it was a wonder he wasn't shitting white paste by now.

He gave some of his precious water to the dying man, mourning inside as he watched all of its contents being drained from his canteen. At least he's getting better.

Focusing on himself now, his thigh wound itself needed stitches, even if it held for now through the sheer power of the bandages.

Shifting his view, he sat down under the warming sun, in the small makeshift bed that feels like heaven compared to what he felt under his toes in the thick, dark forest. His feet were sore, dark with dirt and it looked so familiar to what he was back in the channel. Looking down at his hands, looking at the clipped nails, broken and blood dried at the edges.

The warm sunlight of the sunset slowly hooked his attention away from his predicament, the colors blending coming together to beautifully arrange colors. It's peaceful if it wasn't for the man-eating freaks below him.

He risked a glance downwards like his theory predicted some smaller giants have slowed down and started moving sluggishly. If they wanted to leave this hell, then they needed to do so under the blanket of night.

Only if Kim stopped shitting out his entire digestive system.

* * *

**BREAKING: **_The Bahamas under unknown attack. More Information_—

— _" This is Anderson Cooper, we are getting information that the coastal Islands of the Bahamas and Puerto Rico are getting invaded by an unknown force. Making it's away—_

_—"Holy fucking shit! Are you seeing this?! Where the fuck is the Navy? HOLY SHIT! ITS A FUCKING GAINT!"_

—_"We are seeing videos shot from civilians close to the_ _prior point of attack, police are flooding the scene now, here now we have —_

_— "God, what the hell is that? Jesus Christ—" _

* * *

When Michael was just a wee 'little Private, he and his childhood neighbor walked together to the enlistment center and joined up. He was a fresh out high school graduate, and she was a year into college, both miserable and lost with no clear goal in mind.

He broke bones and bleed more times than necessary to get his credentials to even be considered being put on the field of the unknown lands. He was a veteran on his right, where he fought, and killed more to keep his peace. He hasn't even thought about her, with golden wheat hair and baby blue eyes. He muses stress is responsible for everything, bringing in more white hairs than military training has ever done.

But for blizzard reason, here perched against the giant trunk with monster hands reaching upwards towards him, he can't help but think about her.

But the man couldn't stop here. No, he had to walk through hell, even if he had to suffer through the disgusting smell. Kim had calmed down hours earlier, now just resting before leaving for a better point. Kim had already gone through two pills in less than an hour, given from what he could scrape together from his post-concussion, he knew it was bad, and less likely to help.

Even though the pain was kept at bay with his pills, it was a grateful constant. It meant he was alive, and coherent enough to understand, but then everything started to lose focus after that. It was okay though, Kim's dad jokes were a good thing for once.

He smiled a little, the cold winds welcomed, even if the smile itself was pulling at his neck wounds. Maybe if he could ignore the ache in his shoulder blades and the heat throbs in his thigh, he could play pretend and think of home. (_Warm blankets surrounded by the tall chair legs as fairy lights were draped over the windows_) Waves of black spots were pulling his focus, he couldn't feel anything but the cold, short wheezing breaths pulling at his abused lungs.

He doesn't know anymore. There were lights and blurry in his vision now. Kim was muttering something under his breath, most likely complaining of cramps again. He doesn't care, he pulls the tight fabric closer to his body, calling for sleep. There were movement and pain. A certain someone, is pulling at his clothes, he tried to swat it away, but his arms are too heavy and numb. Someone is touching his face.

Hands are touching him, clinging to his shoulders, — holding on because they feel like he'll slip through their fingers.

Cool water against his warm faces.

"Jesus, what is it, Kim?!"

He rolled over, his swollen eyes just clear enough to see the pale face (not ill, _terrified)_ as he held his locking gaze something far beyond the horizon.

There, over the plain hills, were columns of green smoke.

* * *

**Hey, just a quick comment before I go and hide under a rock for the next month. Sorry, again, for delaying the update for this story, and I'll be honest to say that I mostly forgot about this fanfic until I opened up the again. So, uh, yeah. Comments and all that jazz do go a long way. Anyway, thanks for reading.**


	4. Doing it Barney-style

**Description: **Locals? Yeah, turns out, they ain't so friendly after all.

_Tags: _Gore, blood, dizziness, no warm feelings here, expect grammar mistakes.

war - _noun_

a state of armed conflict between different nations or states or different groups within a nation or state.

* * *

**_Breaking it down Barney-style_**

_haven't you heard? the world is ending_

Michael feels reality snap back, like a rubber band stretched too far and suddenly being let go, as it stings and awakes him for the first time since encountering a giant literal eyeball. He was drifting between conscious and unconsciousness, where he isn't fully aware of everything or anything. He tries to get up, despite the beating drums of his head, or Kim's painful groaning — or frustrating.

He can feel the slight buzzing from his legs, as he stands in place. Kim wasted no time digging out his binoculars, despite his aches. The wind stings his eyes, but hope— Like a soft melodic song that fills your soul with dopamine, but drags your body out. Michael sighs, ruffling his flat hair to somehow relieve some stress.

_Decisions. Decisions._

"So, what do you suggest we do, sir?" Kim, pale face with his fingers twitching as they grip the binoculars, but Michael gives him the courtesy to pretend he doesn't see his hands trembling, prompting to look over the man's shoulder into the dense forest, where he can still feel the unholy stare of the creature behind his ears. The rolling grass hills are the only object obstructing their view of the green columns of smoke. He doesn't know if he's thankful or not. He is only a man, the one who is responsible for this one life, and he is certain of two things.

One, he is going to die. He looks down at his injured leg, there is no immediate medical assistance, both only knowing the essentials no the full long term treatments. Then Michael looks at Kim.

Two, Kim can still have a chance to make it out though, he is young, energetic and the one is that is more promising when they broadcast his face on full blast to newspapers and tv appearances about his miraculous journey and how grateful he is to be alive. He just wished that death didn't strike such resemblance to the creatures below, scratching at the trunk of the tree. He cannot shake the feeling of movement, of everything being turned on its head, a pressure rushing up around him that he needs to get away from before it consumes him.

Michael finally turns his whole body to Kim, his final friend and soldier left in this forsaken world and pulls himself together. There are no re-does here, he is a soldier, a man with pride. Kim is wobbly, titling, and preferring his right foot, still waiting for orders. He pats the man's shoulder, staring directly into his brown eyes, and steels himself for a white lie.

"We do what we came here to do. Collect, investigate, and turn tails. The portal we came through only opens at randoms, right? Well, thanks to Herring's team we found out its little dirty secret; the patterns. And my god did we found 'em. When a large group of those fuglies down there gathers in one spot near it, it opens up." Kim nods, understanding finally soaking it up like a sponge before his expression turns sour. He gestures to the creatures below, and his eyes look over his shoulders for a second but its enough to understand his worries.

Michael smiles, drawing the knife from its holster. "Well, that smoke? Must be man-made, ain't a chance in hell that those creatures are capable of doing that on their own. Maybe its one of ours, we can signal them for help." He knows doubt, and Kim is the very example they give in class when he sits down next to him. Their feet dangling from the ledge if they were schoolboys sneaking out instead of the soldiers trapped in a foreign world.

Michael laughs, he ignores the sting in his thigh and the throbbing in his sides.

"Let's go over the fine details, yeah?"

* * *

_MISSION "BUSTED NUT" HAS BEGUN_

It's reaching sunset, when they both see the smoke again, this time manifesting in the color red. Maybe its the wind, but this time Michael as a feeling that the wind didn't just shift it in their direction for shit and giggles. His mother always said mother nature was a mad scientist. It's hard to remember all the blurred features, but it's getting easier. Michael looks down at his thigh again, the flesh looking better at least, the skin waving back into place, millimeter by millimeter. He is not going to make it very far, and with Kim coming back to his feet, he is only going to drag the mission even slower.

Not that it's the best mission, just to get supplies from the crash, gather their wits, and wait out for rescue. It's an impossible mission, Kim said best when he dubbed it suicidal, but its a soldier's duty to shucker on.

_**OBJECTIVE ONE:** Recover the crash._

If information serves justice, then the crash shouldn't be that far away from where they were currently stationed. If all goes well, it should take at least two hours to get there, where hopefully something of value— a medic pack, guns, ammo, a goddamn _radio_— just anything to increase their chances of survival. They observed the creatures throughout the hours of the day, recorded any weakness they could see, anything else to pass the time stuck up in a tree, like sitting ducks.

Michael moves from his sitting corner, accidentally putting too much pressure in his ankle and thigh, and his sense explodes until it's pins and needles in every limb, in every appendage he only hisses in pain. Kim stood up, offering his hand and Michael swallows his pride in acceptance. This is the difficult part— how exactly are they suppose to get down from here without any commotion?

He is a burden right now, with a limp leg that can be deadly in the field. All he can do is provide cover in the trees, and safely get Kim down from the tree using the numerous ropes Kim managed to get. Bless that bastard.

_**OBJECTIVE TWO:** Don't get fucking killed and coordinate._

While he may be a burned bag, he isn't all that useless, as he stood to watch as he oversaw Kim setting himself with the ropes. He remembers now when Kim told him how he used to go rock climbing all the time when he was a child and later into his teens. Michael told himself over, and over again that it was going to be fine, as long as Kim makes it out good.

"Don't make too much noise, alright? Be careful out there, soldier." Michael muttered between his palms as he lowered Kim down the side of the humongous tree. The creatures had finally given up and stayed still and 'asleep' huddled at the bottom of the trunk.

He swallowed the cold iron stuck in his throat, as his clammy palms struggling to stay still. Every burning breathe he takes is too loud for his ears, his boots scratching at the bark of the tree.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight—

Kim's line suddenly shook, it trembled, as Michael chocked his breathing, his beating heart filling his ears as his muscles sudden spam uncontrollably from the sudden pressure they undertook. He snaps his gaze downwards, his pale expression is thankful to see Kim still hanging, instead of being a mess of bones and bleeding meat. Their eyes met, a silent moment of hesitation and fear, Michael nodded in encouragement, before continuing to safely lower him further and future in the ground where his doom laid.

—nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen—

_**OBJECTIVE THREE:** Pray that Kim knows what he is doing._

* * *

If it's one thing that Kim knows its that the only reason why he was picked over more harden soldiers was that they needed to test waters. After all, with the world tearing itself apart from the inside out, who wouldn't want to know about this new world before anyone else? Pure bureaucracy, he tells you.

He'll probably die.

And he knows that he knows, he just wishes he got to say a real goodbye to his mom before he left. Well, he did, but with the medications on his mind, who knows if she even saw who was talking to her.

But he still runs.

His chest heaves and he clenches his jaw as his attempt to choke back a sob fails, and it comes tearing out of his throat as every bruise, and scrape comes rushing back into existence. The fall from the helicopter could have caused internal bleeding, even some broken bones, it's a miracle he even made it out unscathed as he did. (Not many were that lucky.)

He opens his eyes and draws a breath, a deep inhale his chest can barely handle and he feels himself grin at the sight.

Here he is, having a clouded mind, and a mental breakdown, while one unknown enemy territory, running like a madman. How he hasn't been spotted or attacked, he contributes to some higher being right now. Only if his mom could see him now.

He skids to a stop, barely having the luxury to hide as a monster-giant is found on his peripheral vision.

He forced calm breaths into his lungs, to focus on something. The rough texture of dirt and tree trunk scratching at the exposed skin of his hands, on the threat in front of him. A monster-giant is not facing him, rather it's walking the same direction Kim was. It's standing near 10 meters, creepy semi-transient skin, dark hair features. It's still undecided whether they hunt by scent or sight, and Kim is in a crossroads.

Training maintains that he must fall back and await back-up and further instructions. His back-up is suffering from a possible brain injury (he did lose some of his memories) with injuries that delayed the mission. Possible extraction is slim, no possible way to identify themselves in such a thick forest. Much less if they were even looking for them.

The Russians use colored smoke more often, and with the chaos to race each other to the other world, despite what people want to say about united humanity, they would still have to rescue two soldiers stranded.

(What's stopping them from killing them? Nobody is watching)

He blinks. He blinks and the choice comes for him, the questions, and the heavy accusation falls into his shoulders. _Follow the mission_, the booming voice gave way to clarity._ Get out of this hell alive, you hear?_

Kim gave himself a grim smile, Phillips is so much better at readjusting himself than he gives him credit for. If it wasn't for bureaucracy bullshit, he could have been a Brigadier General by now.

Okay, he thinks he has this under control, somewhat. He slowly steps to take a visual of the monster-giant.

Freeze.

The creature has stopped, seemly uninterested in its previous trance, and has taken an interest around itself. As if it's searching for something.

The sensation of death like a phantom limb, and he's aware of a booming roar of something inhuman, of his heart and ribs and lungs, giving under immense pressure because there were some things even superhuman strength and healing couldn't withstand.

_Think! Quick! What to do?! Hide?_ No, too open, no close facilities to hide under. _Run?_ The thing would outpace him under three minutes._ Fight?_ He has limited ammunition, none were proven to effectively damage the monster with just the use of firearms.

_Listen_, Phillips looks at him, hands on his shoulders, _if you ever find yourself corner with no choices, make your own goddamn choices. Make a way to survive. _

Could he climb the trees? It'll take time to set the stuff up, to even climb up would take some 10 minutes.

Well, fuck it. He needs to bring attention to himself at a minimum, slow and steady. The creature took earth trembling steps. Okay, not slow.

More of those inhuman steps that seemed to match pace with his trembling teeth, and he hadn't come up with a real solid plan. _He's out of time, _he faintly realizes, dropping the climbing gear from his hands. Heart thudding wildly, he found his pistol, one of the few items still intact from the fall. On instinct, he shuffles closer to the tree trunk, pulled his knee up to his chest, and counts to ten.

If he can get the eyes, just the eyes, he can run. He could have sworn he saw a fallen tree somewhere behind him, so he can run and hide.

The footsteps are growing closer. And he panics because he doesn't have an escape plan, Phillips is going to remain stranded, and it's going to kill him. _Somone help—_

Kim there understood why Phillips had such a haunted look on his eyes. The blurry and the high-quality pictures couldn't truly bring the terror of seeing something so animalistic inhuman with those _eyes_. Dim, foggy memories flash in front of his eyes, Kim remembers how he fervently hated going to the market, seeing the fish eyes stare at him, both alive and dead, they both stared at his soul without an ounce of intelligence.

_Well, fuck that!_ Kim grinds his teeth, the barreling sounds of trees cracking under pressure, the heat radiating close, his training kicks in, screaming like his drill sergeant.

The creature peered down above him, like a soulless child seeing an ant for the first time, before making a motion to take him.

Dirt kicking under him, Kim yells incoherent, letting the human anger, and defiance to mask the panic in his voice.

_ BANG! BANG! BANG!_

The bullets only doing so much, steam arising from the monster's eyes, and the sheer pressure of its scream of pain is trying to break his spine, and he's trying to keep his head raised, like a mad man on the open ocean, fighting and clawing, just trying to stay afloat.

Kim only took a step backward when_—_

_Huh. Is he dreaming or why is there a shit ton of steam coming from the thing? _The creature suddenly slummed backward, the dust and dirt rising from the impact. Coughing dry, Kim adjusts his still ringing ears to try to listen_—_

Voices are coming from the other side, _no_, no the other side, in front of him. There, by the fallen, steaming corpse is a man. And a woman. Kim staggers down to his knees, the sheer exhaustion of surviving a literal helicopter crash, with the constant pumping of adrenaline is making him crash harder than the actual crash. He brings himself to try to thank his saviors, to try to identify himself when a thin, sharp blade stopped his words clogged in his throat.

That's when he looked around himself, up in the trees to see more men and women, all dressed in a green uniform he hasn't seen before. A pin busted his bubble, a tight frown pulling at his lips in the knowledge that in the heat of exhaustion he forgot to survey the area around him, to take notice of the noise of his environment. _How stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid__—_

A woman steps forth, the same that brought down the creature that killed so many innocent civilians on Puerto Rico, New Orlean, New York, within the time span of a _second._ The woman doesn't look the friendliest bunch, an eye trained on him, the long blade aimed at his head.

Kim gulps.

.

Michaels sighed, dropping his hands at his side. So far, of things were going as they should, Kim should be nearing the crash site soon. The noises of the forest have seemed to quiet down a couple of hours ago, leaving him in the coming darkness as the sunsets.

Michale would have almost missed, _almost_, as he pressed his head on the tree behind him, he hears it; a slight rustle, not made common by an animal, and too quiet for a monster.

Michael sprints into attention, the loaded gun once peacefully resting on his side was waved along with his eyesight, looking for anything amiss. The environment around plummeted into silence, holding its breath for something to happen. There! On his right side of his peripheral vision, was a _person_.

A young petite looking woman peered around the edge of the tree, a strange feeling took over Michael. _A native?_ She doesn't look like any of the soldiers that were sent previously. She would look harmless to anyone else, soft-looking and harmless, but to him, she looks like an unknown. As he watched, tense with fear, the woman was looking at him with great interest and, seeing him staring back, spoke in a strange language. She didn't speak with malice or with anger, so that was a good thing. She spoke softly yet cautiously like she was speaking to a frightened animal.

(Another human being. Alive. Breathing the same air as he.)

Seeing that he didn't make any movements to suggest he understood, she issued something beyond what he could see. Another person appeared, a man with the same look of semi-concealed shock as the girl. He appeared more cautious and guarded, loitering by the girl's side. He turned his attention to the woman who was still speaking the foreign language.

"I- I am sorry, ma'am. I can't understand you." A plea, that maybe this is some sort of rescue, that he won't have to resort to violence, that she would stop coming closer. His thoughts must be answered by some unknown god because the petite woman looks surprised by a moment before speaking again, much more cautious and slower.

Her words translated to gibberish, that snapped him out of his trance. He coughed, straightening his back in authority, as much as he could anyways from a busted leg.

"Ma'am, you are in unknown territory, please identify yourself and your organization," The petite woman looks at him with so much confusion, a bit of fright and curiosity that he simply wants to demand it off her face. She turns to the man, jarred and guarded, and tells him something back in that unknown language.

For a second he fears the worse, that they are going to kill him regardless of what he says, so he brings the gun closer to his chest. The small action went noticed by the man, who instantly went into his guard, speaking harshly in the same unknown language, pointing at the gun on his hand.

Michael frowns.

"Sir, I would ask you to calm down, there is no reason for your aggression. If you do not identify yourself or try to approach me, I will take a warning shot," the young man, now more frantic with the woman, starts to walk towards him, still talking in the gibberish language.

A chill of adrenaline floats through his limbs, traveling to his fingertips to his legs, and he instinctively brings the gun to the man's chest. _Aim to harm,_ his father always told him, _but never kill, son_.

The woman starts to yell at the man, grabbing his arms, though the man didn't seem pleased, as he shrugged off her pleading hand away. Michael snarled.

"Take a step back! I am warning you right now! I _will_ shoot!" Every beat of his heart sends molten heat pulsing through his veins in place of his blood, as he jerks to his feet, scrambling to a fighting stance, looks at both the woman and man. He grinds his teeth, the pulsing heat in his thigh, he swallows the nauseous inducing salvia.

He doesn't tremble, barking orders to the man in front of him, trying to put more distance between himself and the man. But before any of them could do something, a staggering inhuman screeching punctured the air, stalling both parties.

And for now, all he can think about is what the hell just happened.

* * *

_Hello! No time no see peps! Sorry for the eternity of the wait I put ya'll through, but I found some inspiration and motivation again after so long, so hopefully I can continue this story without months in between each chapter. But thankfully we've arrived at my most favorite part of the story; the meeting! I want to write the reactions of the most important characters first before I shift the view to some others, but that'll have yo wait for another time. Sorry, again for the long wait, I did rush the chapter, but i think I'll come back at a later date to fix some stuff, until then,_

_ Remember to stay safe, and stay inside!_


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